My Thoughts Will Echo Your Name
by lalik47
Summary: Cliché stories are dull. They're overrated. That's what her dad made her believe from a young age. Though when a blind girl with the most beautiful smile she's ever seen enters Beca's life, suddenly clichés don't seem so bad after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect or any of its wonderful characters. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being.**

(I know I should be updating my other stories but I just needed to write this down, hope you like it.)

* * *

Get a summer job, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

It isn't. At all. Especially if you work at your aunt's old record shop.

Her aunt has always been a music fanatic, like Beca. That's one thing they share in common (weird, considering her aunt is kind of nuts). But unlike Beca, her aunt Lisa likes to listen to lame ass music with her lame ass ancient music players.

It wasn't her idea to get a job. It was her mother's, and if it hadn't been because Beca had promised she'd do something productive in the summer instead of 'pig it out on the couch and watch countless hours of bad TV', she'd have refused. (The Simpson's are a classic, to be honest, and she still doesn't understand why her mom thinks it should be considered 'bad'.)

Working at her aunt's store hadn't been her first choice. Her dad had called her the second she had agreed to get a job and offered her an internship at the university he works at, but there was no way in hell she would spend more than ten minutes with him. Also, no pay? Fuck no. The idea of going to college before she actually had to go to college made her eyes burn. She enters in the fall, and she's so no looking forward to it, so why the fuck rush it?

Then there was also the possibility of walking dogs. But a) animals hate her and b) most dogs are bigger than her and she didn't really think it'd be cool to die squished by a furry beast.

There were a million things she could do. From mowing the lawn to working as a waitress. But she always found a flaw in the job, knowing that if she was going to do something that something would have to be music-driven. Preferably working at a studio with a music producer. That'd would've been great.

Her mom was getting restless when Beca failed to get a job on her own, so when her aunt's offer came in, Beca had no choice but to take it.

And fucking hell does she regret it.

She hadn't seen her aunt since her eleventh birthday when the lady showed up with a freaking parrot on her shoulder. The parrot was supposed to be a gift for Beca. It ended up biting the back of her dad's head (sweet justice) and eating the cake, then it flew off into the sunset and never returned. Her aunt cried for hours. It had been weird as fuck and remembering it gave Beca migraines.

Beca didn't find it surprising to know that her aunt owned an old record shop in a secluded place of town. What did came to a surprise, however, was that the store was widely popular. The store has countless shelves full of vinyl records, along with a coffee machine and a sort of lounge that is often full of teenagers with fedoras and weird ass vests. There are also old magazines from the 1940s and beyond, up until the 21st century. They get customers every day. And fuck is that annoying sometimes.

There is the typical wannabe hipster dude who thinks he's too cool to listen to digital music, the old lady (much like her aunt) who's obsessed with stuff from the 1950s, girls who think that owning vinyl records make them hip, etc. You name it. Lots of strange people visit the store. There once was a hobo looking to buy a Beatles record because it reminded him of his dead raccoon. Beca freaked the fuck out and let her aunt handle the situation (there was no way in hell she was going to help that man summon the dead spirit of his animal with a vinyl record).

It is especially awful when the store is packed, but they manage. Well, her aunt manages, Beca reads.

Mondays are not as jam-packed as Fridays, for example, for which Beca is grateful because she's far from being a morning person (she's only a Weekend person, really). Weekends are mostly empty, and she only has to be at the store two hours. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are as normally full as full can go. Fridays, on the contrary, are a nightmare. It's full of annoying ass teenagers who think they're too cool for the summer. Good thing her aunt lets her leave early, or else she'd be in prison already for punching a hipster-fedora-wearing dude.

Beca doesn't particularly hate her job. She just strongly dislikes it and would love to set the store on fire.

Well, she used to dislike it. Until _she_ came in.

The first time Beca sees _her_ walk inside the store, the girl is wearing a pair of dark glasses and is accompanied by a tall blonde woman with a scowl that could give Medusa a run for her money. She doesn't pay them much mind, because customers are customers and they're probably only looking for a vinyl record of One Direction or Taylor Swift (they look like the type). So she keeps on reading (this time her book of choice is Through the Looking Glass because she's a sucker for children's stories – not that anyone knows that but herself).

She puts the book down when a lady comes over to the cashier to pay for her records - three Elvis Presley records, it must be a new record (no pun intended). The girl who walked in earlier is in the line too, right behind the lady, this time without her companion. She has a couple of vinyl records in her hand and a white cane on the other.

Beca bites her lip, fighting back the urge to look for that blonde Medusa chick and beat the crap out of her for leaving a blind girl alone.

"Hi, Miss? Will you let the girl behind you pass?" She asks as kindly as possible, which earns her an annoyed look from the lady and a chuckle from the girl. A chuckle. An actual one. What's so funny?

The lady steps aside nonetheless and lets the girl walk first. The girl is smiling from ear to ear, and if Beca isn't mistaken, that's a smile that screams amusement. Amusement at her. Beca's too distracted with the girl's smile to notice more people arriving at the queue. It's a big, toothy smile. White teeth. The girl does take care of her teeth. Impressive. Is that a dimple? Oh. Nice dimple. Beca finds dimples cute. It's a big smile indeed.

"That was so kind of you." The girl snaps her out of her trance, making Beca blush. The girl still seems utterly amused at Beca, for whichever reason, and she is obviously having a hard time keeping herself from smiling any bigger. Beca would like her to. "But you didn't have to do that. I'm blind, not impatient. I can wait in line just fine."

Beca bites the inside of her cheek, internally reprimanding herself. What the girl said is true. It's not like waiting in line is a dangerous experience, right? There's no harmful things around. That doesn't mean she's not going to kick Medusa's ass for being irresponsible.

"I'm sorry if it offended you." She says, taking the vinyl records from the girl's hands.

Both vinyls are of the Beach Boys. Interesting. Beca's heard them a couple of times, and she can sincerely say she likes them.

"You didn't." The girl's smile widens a little, making Beca smile out of instincts. Some smiles are really so… contagious.

"So, you like the Beach Boys?" Beca enquires, not knowing why but, out of need to know more about this girl. To listen to her speak. The girl has a pretty voice, too, if there is such a thing as a 'pretty voice'. It's the kind of voice that you'd never get tired of hearing, the kind of voice that would wake you up in the mornings and you'd be glad it did.

The girl nods fervently, "I do! It's one of my favorite bands. I heard them the first time with my dad, and since it's his birthday, I wanted to give him something special. He doesn't have any vinyl records of them, so. We're throwing him a birthday party later on and I honestly can't wait!"

She says it so enthusiastically that Beca can't help but feel just as excited, and she doesn't feel excited that often. Okay, she doesn't feel excited for anything at all. Only when she makes music with her laptop and reads.

"Will there be cake?" Beca asks, wanting to keep the girl talking for as long as possible. She's also taking her time wrapping up the records (actually making an effort for a change), ignoring the fact that the customers behind the girl are getting annoyed. Rude assholes.

"Of course there will be cake. It's not a party without cake, is it?"

Beca agrees 100% on that one.

She opens her mouth to say something else when Medusa appears out of the blue, her eyes boring into Beca's as if she were trying to take a peek at her soul. Or turn her to stone, Beca can't be sure.

"All done here? Chloe, we need to get going. Your brother is arriving from the airport in an hour and I have to pick him up." Medusa says, now ignoring Beca altogether. "We also must pick up the desert and take a shower before the party starts! There's also make-up to be considered, not to mention your musical number!"

Chloe. That's a nice name. A name that would undoubtedly be used to name French perfumes and bagels. The Chloé. Chloe. Beca is interrupted from her train of thought when the blonde places money on the counter, to then tap her fingers on it impatiently.

"Well? Give us our stuff so we can go." Medusa the biggest bitch on the fucking planet orders, and Beca has to remind herself that spending the night in jail again for beating someone up with a broom would mark her as a criminal in her mother's eyes.

"Aubrey, that's not very nice." Chloe scolds her, smacking Aubrey's arm with her white cane. "Sorry, I forgot to mention that she's the impatient one. I bet she's giving you her signature scowl right now."

Beca laughs loudly at that, ignoring the death glares being thrown her way by Medusa.

She counts the money and hands the change to the blonde along with the carefully wrapped vinyls. "Here, you're welcome."

The blonde scoffs without saying thanks and leaves, waiting for Chloe by the door.

"Thank you. From both of us. She's usually not that… rude." She says, fidgeting with her white cane. "It was really nice meeting you, um…"

"Beca. Beca Mitchell." She says it so eagerly that a couple of girls behind Chloe snicker. She'll punch them later. Uh, deal with them later.

"It was nice meeting you, Beca Mitchell." And off she goes, leaving a trail of her smile behind. And a bunch of annoyed customers that would kick Beca's ass if she wasn't hiding safely behind a counter.

* * *

Beca doesn't think Chloe will ever visit the store again.

Hell, she doesn't even know why she finds herself hoping that she will.

It's not like they talked much. They talked for about four minutes tops before Medusa - that Aubrey girl – interrupted them. They didn't talk about much. It wasn't nothing special.

Except that it was. Beca can't explain it, but there was something about the girl… About her smile. It was as if something inside of Beca's heart had done a click. A weird sort of click. Or maybe she had been imagining it. Maybe Medusa did turn her into stone and the only thing that did a click was her heart when it froze.

Chloe. A beautiful name.

Chloe.

Chloe, who is blind.

Chloe, whose smile is the brightest smile Beca has seen in ages. No one really smiles much, herself included. It's rare when she does.

Beca shouldn't be thinking about her at all. She meets countless people every day, and sure she never really talks to any of the customers that come by the store and most of the time pretends they don't even exist. But she shouldn't be thinking about Chloe like that.

There was nothing special. There isn't nothing special.

Beca doesn't really believe in the love at first meeting thing. That's such a cliché, and clichés are overrated. And stupid. And not real.

And so what if Chloe's smile is pretty and her voice is as sweet as fresh honey? It doesn't mean anything. At all. She's just another girl who has come by her aunt's store once, and whom Beca talked to briefly. That is all.

"You're thinking. That's odd in you."

Beca lets out a high-pitched scream when she hears those words, turning around to glare at her aunt who's observing her with that 'I'm analyzing the shit out of you and will probably ask my ouija board for answers about what you're thinking later' look.

"Fuck, aunt Lisa. You scared the shit out of me!" She huffs in a very unladylike manner as she finishes stacking the last of the vinyls. It's closing time, and her aunt is very anal about keeping the vinyls in boxes so they don't get all rusty and shit. Beca doesn't want to point out that since they're older than Obama, that they're really old, because that'd earn her a smack on the shoulder.

"I am aware. And you were thinking. Of what?" Her aunt asks, always one to pry on subjects that were none of her concern. "Or should I ask, of whom?"

"I wasn't thinking." Thinking is bad. Overthinking things is worse. And she was doing neither.

"Yes, you were. You had that wishful look on your face and a tiny smile."

A tiny smile? Wishful look? What the fuck?

"Are you high, aunt Lisa?"

Smack.

"I take it you're not high yet?"

Smack.

"Okay, sorry, sorry!" Beca says in between chuckles, running a hand through her hair once she finishes stacking the last of the vinyls. "Fine, I _was_ thinking of someone. But it doesn't matter. It's stupid and pointless and stuff."

"And 'stuff'? You teenagers have a way with words I'll never understand. Who's the girl?"

"How do you know it's a girl?"

"You never smile like that when it's about a boy."

Yep, another proof that her aunt is nuts. It is true that Beca has a preference over girls than boys, but she doesn't have a specific smile for girls. That's stupid.

However, Beca knows better than to fight her aunt on that. If the smacks aren't proof enough.

"Her name is Chloe. She came by the store today. We talked briefly. She left. That's all." Beca explains as promptly as she can, succeeding in not mentioning anything about the girl's beautiful smile.

Her aunt hums, walking over quickly to the very back of the store (where only her aunt is allowed), returning with a cat in her arms. How the fuck did that get there? Beca sure as hell knows better than to ask. "Why didn't you ask her out?"

"Because she was only a customer. And she had to leave to go to her dad's birthday party." And she didn't actually think of asking Chloe out until her aunt mentioned it. It's not like Chloe would've said yes. What if she thought Beca was doing it out of pity because she was blind? What if she smacked her across the face and Medusa turned her to stone right then and there? Who would run the store? Her mom would've had a heart attack.

"So? You had plenty of time to do so."

"We don't even know if she's into chicks, aunt."

"Did she smile at you?"

"Yes?" What does that have to do with anything?

"A smile is one of the most powerful weapons in a woman's arsenal. It can make you fall in love, and it can also destroy you. Boy, can smiles destroy in such a beautiful way…" Maybe her aunt is high already.

"She's blind."

"So?"

"So what if she thought I was doing it out of pity or something?"

"Then you would've changed her mind."

Beca hates arguing with her aunt. With her aunt who's probably high but won't admit it. Her aunt, who is also carrying a probably stray cat in her arms.

"It doesn't matter, okay? It's not like she's ever coming back here, or like I'm going to run into her in some romantic place like the park or a coffee shop."

"Anything could happen, sweetie. Fate has strange plans in store for all of us."

Yep, she's definitely high. Running into Chloe again seemed an impossibility, and Beca is sort of (not) okay with that.

Except that impossibilities can become possibilities in the hands of fate. Something Beca will find out soon enough.


	2. Rain Came Pouring Down

_I'm so sorry it took so long to update. This one has been sitting in my laptop for far too long. I hope you like it, guys. xxx._

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect or any of it's characters, I'm just borrowing them for the time being.**

* * *

One of the things Beca loves the most is rain.

Whenever she gets soaked wet from walking down the park with her headphones on, when she's walking home from work and the rain catches her off guard, or when she spends an entire afternoon gazing at the window as rain drops fall and fall and fall, she feels the happiest.

She doesn't know why, have never been able to explain her precise fascination with it. All she knows is that she's always loved it, ever since she was a little kid and she'd spend hours playing outside with her dad even though rain was pouring down and it looked like a flood might be upon them.

Rain kind of symbolizes one of the few happy childhood memories she has, so maybe that's why her fixation with it is so strong.

Or because it makes her feel clean, as if the sky felt like wiping away her demons with water so she could breathe.

Regardless, she loves it.

Well. Not at this very moment she doesn't. Not on this particular day.

It started out normally, with her waking up, pretending eating a whole box of cereal was healthy, and going to work.

But, oh, of course destiny had to fuck her day up.

If only her aunt had crushed Beca's leg like she asked her to… (A perfect excuse to go to the hospital and avoid answering her dad's call in the process).

What can be worse than having lunch with the father who only comes around every once in a while to lecture her about college, jobs and the future? Whilst simultaneously criticizing her appearance (this includes her tattoos and her piercings) and her life choices? Having lunch with said father _and_ his brand new picture-perfect wife, Brenda (who, no surprises there, turned to be a huge bitch with no filter whatsoever with a knack of yelling at waiters).

The funny thing was, he barely opened his mouth during lunch at all.

To say it went awful would be the understament of the fucking century. Seriously, someone should give Beca a medal for not jumping off her chair to kick Brenda's ass with a goddamn shoe.

It wouldn't have gotten so awry had Brenda didn't make certain comments about Beca, comments that even though she'd never admit it out loud, hurt her feelings. Big fucking time. Which is why burning that sadness, anger and pain away is at the top of her list right now.

Fuck, remembering the whole thing made her want to throw up. And punch something. And then throw up again. And of course kick Brenda's snobby ass to the next century.

* * *

Waiting for her dad at _Lumierés_ , a French restaurant only rich kids with their parents frequented, by herself had been awkward enough. She stood by the door, vaguely making sure her flannel shirt was tucked in all the right places and what not (because she cared what her father thought of her, she always would). Waiting at such a fancy place terrified her, and not only because she was pretty sure she didn't look luxurious or classy or pretty enough, but because people glanced at her with disdain. As if the sight of her was the worse visual of their day. She always took pride in the fact that other people's opinions didn't matter, that she was stronger and better than that. But deep down she _did_ care. And it sucked.

Her father arrived ten minutes late, claiming Brenda had lost one of her earrings and that she could (would not) not leave the house without them. To Beca they were the ugliest looking earrings she'd ever laid eyes on. They looked like a tiny pair of balls hanging from the woman's ears.

"Bella, it's so good to finally meet you! I'm Brenda." The woman exclaimed, in what Beca sensed was the fakest happy tone of voice the woman could muster.

"Uh, it's Beca." She responded, not knowing whether to shake the woman's hand or just keep on standing awkwardly while her dad asked for a table. She did the later, running a hand through her hair out of nerves and anxiousness.

"Beca. Right." Brenda said it as if it were a name fit for an animal, not a person.

"Alright ladies, our table for three is ready." Her dad announced, taking Brenda's hand and leading her off to where the waiter was waiting for them, leaving Beca no choice but to follow (trying and failing to ignore the looks of the fancy people as she walked by).

They made small talk, yet it was somehow tricky to avoid touching certain subjects for the sake of not wanting their lunch to turn from uncomfortable to extremely uncomfortable. Brenda kept insulting the waiter, from his haircut to his dyed hair to his shoes not being polished enough. It made Beca cringe every time, out of embarrassment and disgust. The waiter looked close to tears at one point. Of course, the step-monster (Beca decided it was only appropriate to call Brenda that, since it fit her so well) had to be the one to break the magical spell Beca had been trying so hard to keep alive, with the little help her dad had to offer.

"So, Beca, your dad tells me you are single." She said, taking a sip of her glass of wine. What was it? Her fourth, maybe fifth, glass? The world may never know. Brenda sure seemed to hold her liquor.

"I am. Not a big deal." She answered curtly, not wanting there to be any room to say anything else on the subject, and because Beca foresaw where it was going.

"He told me you recently ended things with, ah, a woman."

Beca shot daggers at her dad, who had seemed to find the perfect time to glance down at his phone (right, like he had a very active social life), and who also pretended not to notice her murderous eyes boring into his skull.

"I did, yes."

"Listen, sweetie…" Brenda started, and Beca wished so badly in that moment that she could punch the woman before she had time to finish that sentence, "I get that nowadays this business of experimenting with the same sex is a 'hit', so to speak, and I'm certainly glad that you got it out of your system. Now, if you'd let me, I'd love to introduce you to one of my nephews. He's your age, he is tall, and he doesn't really have a type."

Beca stared at Brenda, hoping she could suddenly attain Cyclops powers and kill the woman with a mere look.

"If by 'got it out of my system' you mean that you're glad I had tons of steamy lady sex with my ex-girlfriend, then I'm glad you're glad I got laid." She didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, or as crude, but frankly she didn't give two flying fucks. The look on Brenda's face was worth it.

Brenda emptied her glass, a look of pure disgust in her face. "Do you think this is the time or place to talk about your… endeavors with a woman?"

"It is always the time or place to talk about how hot the sex was, yes."

Her step-monster's face turned bright red. Beca didn't know whether Brenda was slowly going to turn into a red version of the Hulk or trying to keep herself from pooping.

"Sex between a woman and a woman is not natural. Those kind of relationships are not natural. The bible says so. Like I said, I'm glad you got it out of your-"

Beca interrupted her before she could go on (she didn't think her desire to beat the crap out of someone would get that big), "The bible also says it's okay to have ten wives and to treat woman badly. Would you like it if my dad had another wife? Oh, wait, he did! And he abandoned her. How long will it be before he dumps your ugly ass, I wonder."

That sure made her father pay attention. He made a weak attempt at interrupting their banter by saying (in the most authoritarian voice he could muster), "Alright Beca, that's enough."

"I'm trying to save you from going to hell, young lady! I'm straightening you out! God knows that's what your father and I want!"

That made Beca see red. Or blue. Whatever the color of tears was. Her father gaped at Brenda as if he could not believe she had betrayed one of the darkest secrets of his soul. It broke something inside Beca that was already broken. But damn did she feel her insides shatter. All that time believing her dad was okay with it… All that spent in the dark.

She stood up at once, not even bothering to excuse herself because _fuck it_ , and fled the restaurant, not looking back.

* * *

Beca is not a big fan of umbrellas. Why carry one around when you can let yourself feel the rain on your skin?

Of course those lovely thoughts don't apply right now because she's a) fucking pissed, b) she forgot her jacket at her aunt's store and c) because she's fucking pissed. The only thing that would make her feel better right now would either be a giant bottle of alcohol (she's not very picky) or to punch Brenda in the face.

Getting into a bar at this time of the day would be a bad idea though. Because, yes, her aunt gave her the rest of the day off (possibly foreseeing that Beca would be in no mood to work after lunch with her father), but getting drunk at four p.m. is not something she's ever done before. And she's not going to start now.

The only solution is to go back, punch Brenda square in the face and hopefully break her nose.

Jail doesn't sound so appealing, however, and she doesn't doubt that her father would make sure she stayed in there for at least a week if she did beat the crap out of the step-monster.

She groans, hugging herself as she stops in front of a bus stop. She could take a bus and ride around town for the rest of the day, soaking wet and with her heart about to burst out from all the anger it held. Because the sadness turned into anger, and while Beca is no Hulk, anger fuels her habit of holding grudges against assholes who wrong her.

She plops down on a bench and shudders, waiting not-so-patiently for a bus, any bus, to pick her up. All the while cursing the rain, Brenda, and above all, her father.

"You know, it isn't very nice to curse the rain. Especially when it has done nothing to you." Says a girl with a soothing tone of voice, as if hoping that Beca would relax at the sound. (She kind of did, though she didn't know that at the time).

Beca huffs at that, turning her head to snarl at the intruder who stopped her cursing fest, only to raise both eyebrows at the sight.

Chloe. The girl who visited her aunt's store and bought vinyls of the Beach Boys. The girl with the sweetest voice she's ever heard. The girl whose name echoed in Beca's mind over and over, sometimes silently, sometimes loudly.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Chloe doesn't even bother to wait for an answer and just sits down next to Beca, keeping a respectful distance between them. "So, I didn't even know there were so many ways to use the word 'fuck'. Thank you for enlightening me."

Beca blushes faintly at that, suddenly feeling embarrassed for her foul language. Shit. Fuck. Frick. Fuck. Frack. She never thought that she'd ever see Chloe again.

Chloe, the sweetest customer that has ever passed by her aunt's store. Chloe, the girl with a smile that could light up a whole fucking town.

Would Chloe even know it was her? Did she even remember?

Her silent questions are answered in a heartbeat, startling Beca to no end.

"You don't talk much outside of the store, do you, Beca Mitchell?" Chloe seems highly amused, the corner of her lips tilting up a little, clearly having a hard time not chuckling at Beca's lack of social skills.

And it's not that Beca lacks many social skills. Just the ability to talk when she's dumbfounded, astounded or nervous.

And right now she doesn't know if she's all three or just dumbfounded.

Chloe knows it's her. Could it be due to the sound of her voice? Fuck, why if her voice was that type of voice you remember because it's annoying? Beca recalls one time when one teacher called her out for having 'the most mouse-like-annoying-goddamn voice I've heard!' It might have meant that her voice was squeaky, and it hurt her feelings a lot (she was six). What if Chloe only remembered her as the girl from the store with an annoying voice? That'd suck. That would fucking suck.

At least Chloe remembered her name… And not only her first name, but her last name too. Something warm fills her stomach, making her slightly giddy for some reason.

"How- What- Hey!" In the midst of her weak attempt at forming a proper sentence, Beca realizes that Chloe is as wet as she is. Maybe even more. The redhead has a relaxed grip on her cane, as if she isn't even bothered by the rain at all. Although, her glasses are a bit damp and her red curls somehow look darker than the last (and only) time Beca saw her. "Aren't you cold?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I asked you first."

"Good point." Chloe chuckles now, tightening the grip on her white cane just a little bit. Maybe she _is_ bothered by the cold after all. If only she hadn't forgotten her jacket… She would've been able to give it to Chloe. "I am cold, but it's nothing I can't handle. You?"

"Same. Pff, I mean… The cold? It doesn't bother me at all." Now she sounds like Elsa. Goddamit. Beca blames it on her little cousins for making her watch Frozen a thousand times.

" _The cold never bothered me anyway…_ " Chloe sings softly, and Beca is pretty sure she hears a chorus of angels somewhere nearby following the redhead's lead.

"Your voice is so…" Lovely. Sweet like honey. Welcoming to the ears. So fitting to sing the national anthem and bring millions to tears. "Good."

Chloe smiles brightly at that, even though Beca is pretty sure that's the shittiest compliment she's ever told. Not that she's ever complimented many people on anything.

"Thanks! I bet you have a lovely singing voice too."

Beca snorts. Singing voice? Fuck no, she doesn't sing. To have a singing voice you have to sing.

Although…

Okay, maybe she does sing from time to time. Only in the shower and when she's a hundred percent sure her mom's not home. And of course, she only sings angst ridden songs. Not that she's trying to prove a point or anything about how emo she can be. She's just into that sort of music.

"I guess." She mumbles, toying with the hem of her shirt. Beca frowns suddenly when a sudden thought occurs to her. Chloe's alone. Why the fuck is she alone? "Why are you alone?" The only way of knowing an answer is by asking the question, after all.

A blind girl roaming the streets seemed as safe as Beca spending more than five hours with Brenda. She can't help but feel concerned… What if something happens to Chloe? Who in their right mind left her alone, anyway? Idiotic, irresponsible, reckless morons. And that's coming from her.

"Because I fancied a walk." Chloe replies simply with a shrug, as if that explains everything.

"But why are you alone?"

"I fancied a walk alone."

Beca opens her mouth to huff, to tell Chloe that she shouldn't be by herself especially when it's raining. Because what if she fell? What if someone grabbed her from behind? She also suspects that that's not the only reason Chloe is alone, but she doesn't want to pry on matters that are none of her business.

"I know what you're going to say, Beca Mitchell. And trust me, there's no reason for you to worry about me. I have a cane, don't I? You'd be surprised how much pain it can cause."

Now that is a valuable point.

"Impressive." Beca muses, smirking because Chloe beating someone up sounds so adorable that her non-existent heart almost can't take it.

"Why are _you_ alone?" Chloe enquires, snapping Beca out of her imaginary world.

That catches her off guard. She didn't expect Chloe to ask her the same question she had asked her. And she too didn't expect that she didn't have a solid answer.

Of course she knows why she's alone. Why she's always been alone. Why she'll be alone for the rest of the day. She knows why she's alone right now, but she doesn't know if telling Chloe about it would be a good idea. Not everybody is accepting of someone else's baggage. They do say it's better to talk to strangers, but she doesn't want to scare Chloe off with her 'I want to beat the ugly crap out of my ugly step-monster, and kick my dad's ass while I'm at it' shit'.

"Family stuff. I'm pissed off. Decided to take a walk." Why elaborate, right? It's the perfect summary. It's not going to scare Chloe away. Everybody has family trouble. Everybody gets pissed off every once in a while. And didn't Chloe say she too fancied a walk?

Chloe doesn't seem to believe her though. The redhead is biting on her lip ever so slightly.

Could she sense that something is amiss?

No. Not possible.

"You shouldn't give people the power to make you angry. You control your emotions, if you let other people control them… then you're screwed." Chloe ends up saying, "Yeah, we all get pissed at our family from time to time. It'd be strange if we didn't. But don't let that get you down." She clears her throat then, staying silent for a couple of seconds as if trying to think of more inspirational words to say. Beca kind of hopes that Chloe's going to keep talking. Chloe talking is like poetry. She doesn't say anything without a purpose. Out of the goddamn blue, however, they hear a car approaching, which makes Chloe groan. "Listen, I've got to go… But if you ever have the need to be alone with someone or talk… I spend most of my free time at the library. I'm almost every afternoon there. You could swing by and we could… talk. Do you like books? Oh God, maybe you don't even like books and here I am suggesting us meet in the library!"

Beca beams against her will. Chloe just suggested that that hang out sometime. And she rambled. She's still rambling. It's adorable.

"It sounds nice." Really, Beca? Really? Wow. Could she be lamer? Guess she is not that smooth outside of her aunt's store. Not that she was smooth back there. Alright, she's not smooth at all.

Chloe beams at her, like a child who's just been told they are going to get extra Christmas presents from Santa Claus.

"In that case I'll see you around, Beca Mitchell."

The promise of a third meeting with Chloe makes Beca forget all about the bullshit with her dad and her step monster (even if just for the time being) and remember why she loves rain so much.


End file.
